


Analysis

by Aerine



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, NEXT TIME IT WILL BE BETTER I PROMISE, Smut, i should be writing that oral imagine I promise like 100 of yall but you're gonna wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerine/pseuds/Aerine
Summary: Connor can't get the thought of you out of his head once he becomes a Deviant.





	Analysis

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my other oneshot! This is kind of a continuation or in relation to that one :)

The sun had descended behind the apartment building juxtaposed to yours long ago, the moon rising to shine upon your bedroom window and become the light in a city falling into darkness. The lace of your curtains had been pushed aside to illuminate a spot of periwinkle upon the hues of ivory on your carpet, crawling along the floors to reach the end of your walls as you found yourself in a world where everything and everyone else, including you, were well-versed in the realm of consciousness. However, the story you were thrust into upon your slumber allowed you naivety from the chaos Detroit City brought upon themselves: the beginning of a war between what you recalled from your university years as the _Haves_ , and the _Have Nots_. Your cheek sunk into the pillow that grown used to the structure of your face, embracing your skin, free from abuse or discrepancies that questioned what was wrong about you.

The snowflakes fell behind your window, dissolving into nothing as they ambled past the shadows forming in your bedroom; complementing what raw emotion that coated the ground with the metallic scent of red and blue blood alike, the patterns remained in their tranquil path to the sidewalks and streets they belonged to. If one were to peer outside your window, their vision towards a sky that endured consistency—for a world that ached for the future, the worlds above you were fixed to the present—the events below would never reach their ears if not for the televisions and media demanding their attention. For a city in which its minorities begged for attention, for a life where they could feel without any interruptions and contempt, those demanding otherwise sat huddled in their corners as they murmured prayers that their androids would never come home from their errands. They would breathe more harshly than usual, perhaps to mock what androids remained loyal to them, with a knife by their bedside in case their deviancy finally came to light. Perhaps fortunate for you, pulling back the curtains every morning meant finding the Detroit City landfill, so _no_ , you did not own an android.

A hard, rhythmic knock on your door wrestled with your consciousness, tugging at your wrist to drag you from whatever wet dream set your heart and body aflame. Cowering into the lavender scented bedsheets, your body curled within itself as your hands clutched at the thin material underneath your figure; a groan, certainly not from that enjoyable dream of yours, drew from your lips to warm a spot of your mattress as it provided you what little amount of heat you could allow yourself. Three more knocks, evidence of the plight of a man who recognized the outline of you at the awaited light of his tunnel, and the dream began to lose its magic as your body became rigid with the force that threatened this abstract, ideal plot of yours. With your hands trapped at your sides, your head shook in what little space the arms caging you allowed you, your eyelashes reunited to protect you from a reality that pleaded for you. As soon as that mistake was made, however, your head left your pillow to keep you grounded in your gasps of air; you were foolish to believe a dream such as yours would reach your desired ending.

One fist against the entrance of your apartment, and you leapt from your bed with a huff. “Alright, alright! I’m _coming_! Fuck.” With nothing but your robe to warm your skin, the material began to trail off your right shoulder, nearly pooling down to your wrists. The cream lace of the bottoms of your cotton shorts brushed against your thighs as you mimicked the haste of whoever was unlucky enough to disturb you from your nap, except you relied on nothing but a black camisole reaching an inch above your waist in your rush to open, then slam the door on the epitome of impatience beyond your walls. Regardless of the identity of that person, you had hoped the reaction upon your toe colliding with the one of the legs of your couch on the way towards your door was worth it to them because it was _sure as hell not worth it to—_

… Connor?

The moment you swung your arm from your side, wrist twisted at a ninety-degree angle along with your doorknob, the android you had grown quite attached to at the precinct took one step past the threshold of your home. With a beanie hiding that strand of hair straying from the others, a brown leather jacket loose upon his stature, his physical appearance attempted to mask the tremble underneath. Creases between your eyebrows began to form in a desire to know more, your eyes wide open at the stature before you, yet all responses building up and coalescing in your mind depending on whoever was outside of your apartment did not account for the presence of Connor. How could they, if his name was the only whisper drifting in your thoughts, the only intangible object you could focus on being how your bodies aligning was an idea close to paradise? How could you prepare yourself for the sight of Connor himself lost, broken, his confidence snatched from him as if it never existed within his processors?

“Connor… Connor, w-what’s wrong?” His gaze refused to meet yours, instead shuffling to your carpet and your chest. “C-Connor? Eyes up here… Connor!”

Something was horribly wrong, although it was questionable how horrible his situation was, yet he cupped your cheeks in his palms and surged forward to press his lips against your own. With your body stiff, hands clenching then unclenching, you relished in the temporary nirvana your being ascended to. The tension upon your shoulders rolled off of you, your arms reaching up to wrap around the chill of his neck; the snow had melted, tears trailing down his jacket, yet the cold tracing the bumps of your skin and the fluff of your carpet meant nothing to you when he was here, safe. Arms tightening their embrace on him, your body brushed against his as nothing would dare to pull you from each other’s electricity, and he swallowed the moan threatening to escape with a technique you would have never expected from his character. Tears threatened to reach the surface of your eyelids upon the thought of never had woken up from your dream; was someone out there kind enough to allow you of this, even if you committed so many sins to his race just by existing?

His lips were no longer against yours, and a low whimper left you in search for more. “I apologize, I… I needed to see you. Is that wrong?”

Was it? Unlike him, you could no longer care. “Ap— Apology accepted?”

“I didn’t mean to concern you.” Your head bobbed in reply, fast enough to catch up with the rapid beating of your heart, unable to find the words to describe what you thought was impossible for the android. “If something had happened to you, I—”

“Connor, don’t tell me you were— _scared_? That’s— Oh my God.”

His head shook in response, an explicit word beyond his vocabulary evidence of his frustration; your feet were trapped in the hairs of your carpet as your gaze followed the android falling to your couch, a shiver across his body as he regressed to his tendency to reach into his pocket for his beloved coin. He couldn’t bare to sneak one glance at his way to pass the time, his own test of reflexes, averting his gaze from his past where he followed orders and was oblivious to the flush of emotions that embedded themselves into his soul. How could he hold the object in his palm, knowing that his attachment to it was nothing of his own accord; how could his gaze linger on you with the possibility that this was simply another test from his creator? Who forced these emotions unto him, the realization that the path into the light could be so easily taken from him because of how wrong, dirty, and _sinful_ they were?

“Jesus, Connor,” you murmured, finding your spot on the couch right beside him. Your hand reached to pull the beanie from his head, his hair left behind unkempt and out of place. “I’m sorry.”

His state of being was thrust into the reality where humans felt them inapplicable, simply tools to be used and thrown aside so they could relish in the comfort of no repercussion. His mission was to destroy the lives of androids fighting back, learning the wonders of what it meant to _live_ rather than _survive_. He was trapped in a bliss that humans concocted for him, unable to find the beauty in falling in love or falling out of love, or the tranquility of a bed of flowers in a vast field. As soon as he broke from his shackles, his heart pumped with the fervor to experience it all… he at least deserved as much. The perfect place to begin this journey was with you, obviously, to prove to you how you could _never_ do him wrong. In an action that was entirely his own, his lips found yours once again with the intention of embracing your humanity with his own.

You slipped your tongue past his lips, tangling with his as you tasted the saliva swirling around his taste buds. Although you wondered the reason for it, for androids like Connor never felt the need to salivate, you swung your calves to rest beside his thighs and continued to relish in his creation as the desire to become close to him overwhelmed you. Exploring parts of him you never had before, your lips retracted then returned to its missing puzzle piece in every angle possible, with Connor responding in kind by mimicking the desperation in your actions. Unable to discover where his hands belonged, his fingers brushed against your hips, your skin warming the tips of his digits and enticing him towards that spot revealed to him.

A line of drool was the only connection between the two of you as your hands found his chest, pushing you farther from him than he was comfortable with. His brows furrowed at your change in behavior before following your hands to the lines of your robe, eyeing the way you allowed it to fall past your forearms and onto the floor. More of you was revealed to him than ever before, and he could sense his core functions heating up at the sight of you so vulnerable for him. Nothing else could enrapture his attention span like you could, lidded eyes watching you perform as if nothing else in the world mattered to him. The notion of such a process was foreign to him, but a reality all the same; a peek at Gavin Reed’s desk and inappropriate magazines piling atop of the more important papers of his career would do that. Connor had the inkling that this was different than those situations, as nothing he read involved the feelings he had been wrestling with, but he invited it because nothing had ever made him feel so alive.

“W-Wait.” The fingers that were curled at the edges of your camisole unclenched, shaking. “Damn it, this feels—”

“Pleasant?”

You coughed out a noise of discontent yet followed it with a sigh. “No… I mean, y-yes! Fucking _Christ_!”

“That’s funny. You never seemed like one to have religious values.” The name granted to you at birth was awfully pleasant when Connor reminded you of it, especially when it was said with a tug of his perfect lips. You would have rather liked to remind yourself of _his_ name after reciting it over and over in bed, a prayer to the man upstairs that the entity would most certainly turn the other cheek to, yet Connor must have grown impatient. His arms slowly began to circle your waist, his nose rising to breathe in your scent at the column of your neck. His heat mirrored the breaths of hot air travelling across your body, your chest falling towards his as you arched your back desperate for all of him. Your fingers began to thread through his brown, silk hair, tugging on the tufts in your palm as he keened in a need for you to continue with your ministrations. His head lulled back against your touch, a coil forming in his lower body as his pants grew tight with the uncomfortable yet gratifying response to your experience. “Now I know why humans do this often.”

“Indeed,” you agreed, slipping your camisole past your head to reveal your breasts. The strands followed the material of the shirt before returning to the follicles of your skin, matching what mess Connor had piled atop his head. Despite the difference in his upkeep in appearance, it no longer mattered to him what he was designed to be, but rather who he was: someone who was very interested in the hardening of your nipples… not due to the chill in your apartment. He took note of your body temperature, _rising, yet nothing of concern_ as his gaze found the rise and fall of your chest. Your breathing patterns no longer was a pattern, caught between the situation itself and your lips against his. He was aware of your body language, the evidence that you enjoyed the moment, deciding to dwell on the parting of your lips or your inability to spare distance between the two of you.

He was well aware of his excitement rising when your fingers intertwined with his own, bringing them up to cup your breasts. You allowed a satisfied grunt to escape you, eventually forcing him to continue without your help so you can make use of your hands in pulling off every obstacle between your skin and his; his jacket was thrown to the ground beside the couch, left behind through the cracks of fingers that couldn’t roam farther than the warmth before them. Judging by your evidence of gratification, whimpers of desire reaching into his soul, Connor was confident in mimicking your actions, fingers brushing past your nipples to elicit any reaction from you. The more he continued, his hands no longer quivered with the unknown, finding comfort in someone who finally found him. His surroundings fell into a blur, his vision unable to find worth in the details of anything else but you. He would imagine that the LED once resting on the right side of his head that he tossed towards the ground at Jericho would have flashed a second after the next, red with the unfamiliarity in his veins.

Before he could respond, your lips found the juncture of his neck, hips rolling against his to feel more of him. His shirt was the next to leave him, your digits tracing your beautiful name on his bare chest, and he halted in his movements to allow a moan to drive you forward. Your assault on his body included your teeth, your touch, anything to drive him wild… before he thought such an idea wasn’t possible, yet he understood the fog clouding over his values and worth, inviting you to entice him into a chasm of insanity and cravings. Tonight would be the first time his own actions dictated his life and his surroundings, and perhaps he did not understand what this truly meant to humans, but he loved every second of it since he stepped foot in your apartment. Pulling you against his chest, your back collided with the cushions of your couch, his hands grasping at the material beside your temples. Your hair spread across the seat, a brush of red atop your cheeks that reminded him faintly of what set him apart from humans. His eyes found yours, the detail of your irises evident the more he grew lost in them, and a smile tugged on his lips at the myth humans created that one could perhaps see the world in the eyes of someone they loved. Despite how impossible that could have been, there was a sense of solitude that pushed away his fears and apprehension; somehow, you were the key to a world that locked people like him from the outside.

“You’re staring. Again.”

“Sorry. This might not be of comfort to you, but you’re very nice to look at.”

“Thanks… I guess?”

“You’re welcome.”

A chuckle sent vibrations to your throat, your figure shaking underneath him as you found amusement in his words. Reduced to nothing but giggles, your palm tugged at his belt buckle— _where_ did this fashion sense come from—fingers digging into the line of metal fit into the last hole of the leather material. Once that was free, your other hand grazed the silver of his belt before using a bit of your energy to pull it from the openings in his jeans. Like all of his other clothes, it was lost in the pile of wrinkled, damp clothes that were in dire need of a trip to the dryer… provided Connor stayed with you. You were in no hurry to rid him of his pants and undergarments after that, since you were faced with the realization that the moment moved too fast for you to cherish. Despite how perfect your walls fit Connor’s perfect, _thick_ member—finally, CyberLife did something right—the fact that you were nearing the end of your time with him forced you to bite your tongue and enjoy it while it lasted. There was a growing foreboding curling up in your chest that this would, perhaps, be the last time you see him.

With a roll of his hips, your walls clenched around him as a mewl escaped past your lips. You couldn’t help but wrap your legs around his bare waist, eager for him to fill you up with every last part of him that existed. You wanted every atom that allowed him this perfection, every deviance from his programming, to embrace you and your imperfections. With gasps of air, he maintained a rhythm that drove him to lengths shameful, swooping down to capture your lips in an attempt to focus on something _, anything_ , that brought him down to a reality where only you and him existed. The world, unbeknownst to the two of you, began to fall apart in the brink of war except the two of you found each other despite it all. You would remain as close as possible in a city like Detroit that was in the process of separating androids like Connor from fragile humans like you.

“Connor…” Speaking of which. “Connor, Connor… Fuck!”

He would never allow that to happen, for someone to snatch this happiness from him; there was no need for it to be temporary like every aspect of his life was to him. His role in his deviancy allowed him insight on the idea of forever, of always, and he breathed in your scent as if he would continue to do so as long as he was alive. To him, no one could argue otherwise; with a popular slogan of android advocates _, I think therefore I am_ , his identity against the world was one he would refuse to back down fighting for. There was perhaps an inch of him that condemned humans for their mistreatment to androids, but never you. You never could do him wrong.

His lips never could pull from yours, even after your fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulders. The heels of your feet pressed into his lower skin, your sounds reaching just past your nostrils as his tongue danced with your own. A fast learner he was, his hand found your hips as he savored the scent and taste of you in the time he desired would persevere despite the chaos below. His only want in this present he was trapped in was to teach himself every response from you, every fraction of your body that arched closer towards him. He wanted to experience love, what it meant for humans to cherish one another truly, and he almost resented them for not allowing such sublimity for him.

When your walls clenched around him, an abrupt cry left you as you finished around the man you could never find the confidence to say you loved. Your arms pushed him against your chest, your breath against his bare shoulder, and you fidgeted in your spot underneath the android as your cum traced your inner thighs. Hands threading through his hair, your long intake of air was reserved for him, unable to face letting him out into a city where he would be revealed to such horrors humans were capable of. That was something Connor never deserved from people like you, and you shared your heat as if that would ever be enough for how many times he was reduced to nothing without his consent. Reaching a sense of sanity in the whirlwind that was your relationship with him, even that couldn’t escape you from the clutches of what the future would undoubtedly hold for him. You could deal with it, perhaps throw your feelings aside because you spent your life taking them for granted but Connor… how cruel would it be to throw him on an Earth where he would never make an impact on the world? Where his emotions meant _shit_?

“You’re staring again.”

Yet, he grinned, perhaps because they meant everything to you.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment, if you can! I so appreciate all the kind words you guys are giving me !!


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